Spalmato In Ceneri
by Angeleyes699
Summary: Harry’s been accused of a disgusting crime and chucked into St Mungo’s, branded criminally insane; but still years later when the world is crying out for answers the case is re-opened to discover once and for all, the truth.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** None of the characters and/or plotlines that are featured in the Harry Potter books belong to the author. But the plotline and character pairing/situations that you, reader, do not recognize from the book series belong to the author.

**Author's Notes:** Please be gentle with this fanfiction, it was started from an idea which has been going around in my head for days on end. I only just managed to scribble it down, clues are dotted about all over the place. If you've got a keen eye for catching onto the ending pretty quick then you'll be dumbfounded by this first bit, it makes utter to no sense until right to the end. If you're good enough, you might even catch the title meaning in there somewhere.

Spalmato In Ceneri

**Prologue**

Flames sprouted from lying bodies, long killed by one stray zooming spell. Screaming echoed through the halls of the once grand home for magical learning. Students of all ages tried their hardest to stand against those that tried to catch them, they searched their knowledge for any type of spell to grant them safety, any way to wriggle out of the situation. None was successful.

Teachers attempted to protect the ones they'd taught and come to know over the past years, tried to use their own powerful and matured understanding of magic to continue the peace that once resided with them all. Still, few stood against the looming shadows of the evil that graced the building. Those shadows, known as death eaters to you or I, pulled into the dark by uneasy upbringing or a family of those before them served, only their master.

They did as was told to them and they obeyed, enjoying sweet but fickle revenge to their desires in the process, but indeed promises were kept and fulfilled that night. Their ranks spread far and wide across the school to, as they were told, kill if necessary any child or adult whom got in their way. They did, with enjoyment.

"Get off of me!" A girl of the oldest attending her education tried to scream but her protests were muffled with the musty folds of a deatheater's cloak. He grinned foolishly while he fumbled with the girls robes, but then raised a dagger high to show it glinting in his gripe. A dagger made of strong silver taken from the egg lining of a rare dragon in Sweden - the rarest of the rare.

"No - no, please. Please don't kill me!" The girl cried, tears falling down her cheeks while she threw her arms about aimlessly. But to no avail her screams died in her throat once her attacker pulled his arm up high then plunged, sharp and practised, the weapon deep into her heart.

I can remember clear as day watching the scene unfold in front of me knowing I could do nothing - the past was the past and now, wedged into place by forces too high to mention, was impossible to alter. The stain of that girls blood splattered onto the stone wall behind her body still haunts my fleeting memories when I slip into sleep. Its hard to forget that she was one of the first, the first of the blood spilled of that time, that time when past repeated.

He followed up his perfected move again and again, not stopping until he was sure he would not even hear a whisper from the girl, not anymore. But there, several paces down were a group of youths being dragged by capturers to what was the great hall of Hogwarts then, one girl named Hermione Granger was being pulled by her bushy curls of hair. Trickles of blood dripped down from her scalp and left a smearing trial along the floor.

She was crying out in agony I could clearly tell, her back writhing each time she was yanked over a step or a piece of rock jutting out from the stone floor. She was joined but four other prisoners of the crime. A boy, wild red hair and fading freckles told me clearly his last name, even now his family were recognised for their traits, he groaned and let them chuck him about like a rag doll. His limbs limp while he was pulled, a huge gaping wound in his side adding to the blood already smeared along the floor, like the ashes.

Several minutes later each student was shackled to one side wall of the hall, the long house tables shunted to opposite end of the place. Stormy clouds stuck in the night sky, hanging over the enchanted ceiling, making the scene look magnificent if it weren't for the acts that took place there.

All about the school children were being killed, adults trying in vain to stop this were yanked and shoved against their will until they pleaded for them to stop. Sadly the sides were unmatched and outnumbered, students untrained for the few short moments of their deaths. Things could've been different if one man had faced up to his fears, had swallowed down the cowardice and seen the truth. You could say, all this was down to one man, for it was the truth at the time. But thus, the dice were wrong sided and freedom and speech almost frowned upon. But no-one dared then, that, was the price of democracy.

Deatheaters, the servants of one evil parted from their crowd and made way for their master. He entered, grace and careful, planned almost musical moves showing off his high dignity. He was not human, I got tell from first glance, I didn't even have to snatch a look at his aura to know. His face, his features, disfigured to make him appear more like a snake.

His eyes, a deep and dark red sunk into his face, his patchy and pale skin drawn tight to make his appearance more skull like. His fingers, long and bony curled around his wand, itching to show of his enormous power. Evil did like to make a show I noticed, silencing a room and making any one ordinary shiver and tingle.

"Where is he?" Lord Voldemort snarled, striking Hermione across her cheek.

"Who?" She snapped back.

"Him, him your saviour, your not-it-all little Potter scum. My objective."

"I... I don't know what your saying," She gulped then gritted her teeth when Voldemort stepped right up to her and clutched a big spindly hand around her chin, digging his fingertips in. "I, don't know where he is." Hermione cried, Voldemort's grip firming.

"You lie," he whispered, "_Crucio._"

She writhed in pain, screaming in utter agony. Experiencing such pain it was like millions of hot, steaming pokers were being slashed across every inch of her skin.

The others, her schoolmates and friends winced as she struggled to break free from her chains, still screeching. Tears ran from her eyes and her shouts were reduced to small sobs as the pain doubled over.

But then, it ceased. "Tell me child, I have no time for games." Voldemort's eyes seemed to light up when the girl in front of him took a deep lingering breath and attempted to talk.

"Even if I knew," she sighed deeply "I -I wouldn't tell _you_." Voldemort, the previous once kind-hearted and care-free Tom Riddle let a sound similar to a growl escape his throat. "Take her, do with her what you will - but remember, no-one speaks against me." He ordered.

His servants. three of them in fact unshackled the weeping girl and pulled her away, against her weak protests.

"Now you," He walked slowly toward Ron, drawing right up to him, clutching his prisoner's chin just as he had done prior. He moved Ron's head from side to side, watching his eye's roll in their sockets. "Useless." he sighed, and pushed his wand up to Ron's face, sticking it into his cheek.

"_H__austus_" the ancient Latin rolling off his tongue, he knew the spell well - it had given him great pleasure in watching souls suffer.

No sooner had he uttered those words, but a glowing tinge spread throughout Ron's arms and legs, gathering at a haze on his chest. Ron then started gasping, blue eyes widening in shock - his breaths becoming more and more rasped and short.

Those innocents in the room needed only to look away from the sight in front of them, as their friend chocked and spluttered as his skin wrinkled and drawn around him, making his frame look skeletal. His arms looked weak and brittle, his legs knobbly and shaking. His face, but his face looked horrible, he did not look anymore the seventeen years he was - but now much like a thin stick-like old man with a wisp of wild red hair atop his head.

Meanwhile Voldemort let out a wicked cackle, a thin smile reaching his lips. "Now children, tell me, where is he. That Harry Potter."

* * *

"Harry, come. Keep going." Harry did as he was told and tried his best not to slip, the passage to the supposedly haunted Shrieking Shack was surprisingly moist. He glanced behind him and saw an amusing sight, Dumbledore, the gracious and old headmaster down on his hands and knees scrambling along behind him.

But now he had no time to laugh at the sight, he'd been pulled from his classes almost half an hour ago to escape the screams and explosions he could hear behind him - he did not wish to imagine the blanket of evil that has ascended upon the school, according to the persistent Tonks in front of him, he had little choice.

He was desperate to go back, to face up to whatever big nor small power and dark was terrorising his friends. He could feel, deep inside him a tug, a desire to be courageous and stand up for himself and others.

So far he could tell of three ministry workers and two school teachers escorting him away from the battlefield, why he needed protection was beyond him, if the time for death was right then he'd take it. That's how Harry Potter worked nowadays you see, I'd studied his maturity rate with deep interest, even though he had what seemed the weight of the world on him, he still thought rationally.

The boy had grown on more ways than one from his first years, he now had grown into himself, if that were possible, and held his head high instead and drawing into himself. He'd finally taken on his looks inherited from his father, his unruly hairstyle finally tamed to be short and spiky - his glasses long gone as his eye-sight improved. Guesses were taken as to how he had gained excellent vision other the past three years, but still that part remained a mystery.

Harry was now deep in thought as he followed the trial, anger slowly bubbling in him, how dare they pull him away from the scene when he could stop many deaths by giving Voldemort what he wanted. If that wizard wanted him for him power then he could have it, why when Harry possessed no magic knowledge that stood out - why was he so special?

The charm, that technique his mother had used to protect him. Just because back then, Voldemort had decided to take down a family that could've possibly helped a revolution against him - just because he was protected.

Well, he was sick of being protected, being shipped off to the Dursley's each summer, to live under the rules of his horrible, completely stuck up family. Having to smuggle stale cakes under the floor boards to survive on anything other than half a grapefruit for breakfast, lunch and tea.

"Bugger," Harry heard one of the person's following him curse, after they'd bumped their head on the low ceiling, he could only grin and shake his head, the price of safety.

* * *

"Jones!" I heard a distinct and gravely voice bark behind me - here he was _again_.

"Yes sir?" I asked, standing up and brushing the creases out of my robes.

"Tell me you have the first lot of reports, they need to be finished, and on my desk. by this afternoon at **the** latest." he almost shouted at me, Mister Fischer my fantastic and brilliant most kind boss ever stood in the doorway of my office - it was a pity he didn't fit the job description.

He stood, no slouched onto the door frame, rolls of fat going over his belt and stretching the thin cotton of his, already coffee stained shirt. His face was steadily turning purple with the days stress and I cold spot the entrails of his breakfast hanging from his thick moustache. God help his wife.

"Sir, I have them nearly done, just a few more hours and they'll be completed and ready."

"Hours? Hours, we don't do hours in the department Jones, we do minutes. How do you expect us to run half decent crime investigations if we work by hours?"

Here it comes again, the talk, that bloody speech which has already kept me behind with my paperwork twice this week, and it was only Wednesday.

"You knew when you took on this job Jones that the work would have to be completed by a respectable time - and in immaculate condition, not like your last assignment for a start."

I nearly winced, would he ever let that drop? How my four-year old managed to get his sticky mitts on my wand when I wasn't looking, for a very good reason might I add, _and_ somehow hex my nice neat pile of papers with a bogey bat curse I'll never know. Never, never again will I let him glance through my old school books, especially when the child can read before his time.

"We run a respectable department down here, we work to provide those who've lost loved ones with the peace of knowing who committed the crime, or bringing back truth to investigations left open." here he took a deep breath, I could feel that particular part coming again, "Just because you are connected with this case, does not mean you can lazy around - this is very important. This one could put our department back on the map and bring our funds up again, if you cannot deal with the stress then -"

"Stress? I've been slaving my arse off for you for three years - do you think I haven't learnt to deal with the stress already." which is more that I could say for you, I very nearly added.

"Yes but with your current condition, you should be taking time to relax Callie." I could see the worried look in his eyes for a moment, what is it with the majority of this place? Okay so a girl admits she's going to have a second child and the whole male population practically drool at your feet.

"I've worked under these conditions before, now I have work to do." I pulled my ebony coloured hair into a messy pony tail, I wasn't in the mood for him at the moment, maybe he could just go away so I could get on with my job.

It was probably the hormonal edge on my tone which made him turn without a word and walk out of the doorway, pulling the door shut behind him, but damn it was good to have some peace and quiet for once. Now, continuing with my notes.

* * *

"I'm going back," he exclaimed, his words echoing around the small tunnel before he stepped out into the dusty room, the floorboards creaking under his feet. He was met by an uneasy glare from Tonks, she'd chosen to keep her hair cropped but still that bright shocking pink, her latest 'fad' of multiple body studs glinted in the dim light.

"You must stay here, it is important that you are kept away from danger." Dumbledore's wise words caused Harry's re-think he decision - but his mind was still made.

"But what about my friends?" He pleaded.

"I'm sure they are being looked after now, the ministry have assured me that the castle is secured."

"Secured? Then why can't I go back?"

"Because," the surly Professor Snape cut in, his tone deep, "what's necessary right now is your safety." Harry took note of his attire, a dark hooded cloak that swept the dust from the floor when he moved and thick boots that made an amusable clunking sound with every step.

Harry eyed the ministry workers, two men and a woman - probably auras in disguise he thought. But I knew, I knew what they were.

"I'm going." Harry stood his ground, clenching his fists and prepared to go against anything they told him.

"You're not," One woman, the one who'd bumped her head in the passage way, he was sure it was her voice he heard, she stuck her chin high and lectured him on the reasons why too. Too rational to care Harry ignored her by cutting in,

"Shove safety and importance, I'm going back." And with that he dashed out of the room, feeling uneasy with the strength of the floor beneath him, it shook unnaturally as he ran and he was sure it wouldn't hold him for much longer. He felt guilt. Guilt for going against Dumbledore, but he did feel it was right somehow.

Thinking that his past root was blocked he made for the stairs, but then just missing his left ear he noticed the sparkle of a body binding curse just skim past him. They were after him.

Pulling out his wand from his belt, where it had been safely concealed for a long while, he turned almost blindly and shot any curse he could think of in nearly all directions. He thought he heard the scream of his name and the weep of someone in horrible agony, but it was all ringing in his ears as he shot out of the battered doors and out into the street.

He didn't care nor see the people staring at him, but he did take notice of the darkmark looming over the castle in the distance. Harry dared not look behind him, but he looked and saw countless explosions of spells and unmistakable dark hexes and curses billowing from the school. Secured huh?

Flinging his body around again and pointlessly shouting spells, and two unforgivable curses he noted. Then, he fled towards Hogwarts - not caring who he'd injured, as long as he did what was right, so he thought.

* * *

_Finally._ I stashed the pensieve away in its cabinet and sighed. One long day or what. My notes lay ready for processing and my desk for once tidy.

I walked over to the door and glanced out at the rows of desks and countless cauldron stalls, completely deserted par the few hard-core workers. All was quiet I noticed, maybe I could take a request in for night shifts, at least I'd be out of the way of Fischer, I swear the guy lived to taunt me.

Gathering my bags I picked today's (or more like yesterday's) _Daily Prophet,_ and skimmed over the head line, I couldn't help but smile. Chuckling in spite of myself I shuffled out of the building, going through the usual security checks that I know now off by heart. I suppressed a yawn and thought of home, the caffeine glory of a cup of coffee and maybe, sleep. Still, that headline left some amusement to my day - that Reeta Skeeta woman never ceased to amaze me.

How she got wind I'll never know, the thought fleeted from my mind when I lobbed the paper in my bag and prepared to floo. But not with one last complaint, damn stupid bugs flying around at this time of day.

* * *

_The Daily Prophet, Article ID 67845, Author: Reeta Skeeta,_

**Ministry Re-Opens Potter Case After Nearly Thirty-Five Years**


	2. Chapter I

**Disclaimer:** None of the characters and/or plotlines that are featured in the Harry Potter books belong to the author. But the plotline and character pairing/situations that you, reader, do not recognize from the book series belong to the author.

**Author's Notes: **Ain't this chapter pretty? Sorry for the delay, I had a piece writing to do on _Stand By Me_ for school and before I knew it I was neigh high in kittens. Well, sorry if the language is a bit messed up, court cases are pure evil.

Spalmato In Ceneri

**Chapter One**

"Kev my man, how you hanging?"

"Ah the usual, same old you could say." a guard replied, flicking a cigarette butt in the direction of the cell door in front of him.

"Wife causing you trouble still?" his companion asked, rubbing his hands together in a bid to banish the cold that turned his fingers numb.

"Aye," he let out a long breath and continued, "where's you been? I ain't heard from you in a while - moved in with them rats have ye?"

"Nah, them _things_ give me the willies, was called down to see the new arrival."

"That Potter kid eh? Everyone's on about him, just another good for nothing murderer is all I see." the guard, sixteen years in the service pulled his regulation grey jacket around him, he didn't often like to dwell in the prisoners affaires.

"Eh, he's one of the roughest. You should've seen him, hood pulled way down over his face, hunched over and scheming. I reckon he was planning the death of every person he laid eyes on, the chill I got when he walked past."

"Well, kids today. He was a dark wizard in the making if any, only a matter of time before he showed his true colours."

The other guard, Mike, nodded. "Yeah, as black as night and stitched in a with a dark mark for measure."

Kev grinned for a moment, "Who would've thought, _the_ Boy Who Lived landing himself in Azkaban for multiple manslaughter, but his friends."

Mike shook his head, a sad smile tugging at his lips as he thought of the in depth description he received from a close friend of his, "You've heard the reports, all of them lined up in a row, shackled to the wall - unmistakable illegal curse marks all over them."

"Three of them, dead! How could he have done it? They were his friends, the people he'd grown up with for six years."

"You don't know what they teach them kids nowadays, I reckon they should be more picky of who they choose - that Dumbledore must've known that one day Potter would go off the rails, parents being dead and all, who's to show him what's right and wrong?"

"Aye, but those witnesses - they were so shocked they're being treated for severe mental disorder. Who's to say he turned on them too uh?" Kev strained.

"He turned on all of us mate, we all thought he were special, nothing but some messed up kid with issues."

* * *

He felt the cold numbness of a strong metal arm clutch him, and dig into his frame. Then drag him by his limp arms, bathing his robes with dust and mud from the track leading to the castle. It was odd he supposed, that the sky seemed to form new, strangely interesting patterns. He could feel in the back of his mind the magic take over him and calm his senses.

He looked back with quiet reflection induced, remembered with a haze the people screaming and running from him. His protectors chasing him as he ran, anger bubbling behind each glance of his path forward.

Harry remembered the dementors swooping down on the crowd of residents of Hogsmeade, the sudden faint feeling that took over him, the sickly guilt that rose in his throat - hearing the faint echo of a long, high-pitched scream.

The rain seemed to pour down in buckets, hitting his back and stinging him. Like sharp pellets biting into his skin. Mindless minutes of falling bodies, slowed rolling of limp forms and nameless faces, all leaving behind some family, an income, a home. Countless spells cast into the air, many with a nasty glow that left the attacked injured or dying.

Then, those hooded figures once dwindling in the cold damp and Knockturn alley, shifting out of their hiding places, concealing their faces behind blank and lifeless masks, cowardice didn't deserve disguise. Every one of them, omens of death pulled their cloaks tied and shielded themselves from the rain, as they came in huge numbers and destroyed everything in their paths.

A clang and a clatter, a bowl piled with a sloppy excuse for food was suddenly, almost thrown into his cell. He doubted anyone wanted to see him, his school robes pulled over his eyes to stop him from seeing the musty cell that he resided in, that's why the place was dark and cold, no-one dared open his door to tell if he were alive or dead.

Every night those events played over and over in his mind, sometimes twisting to a vile illusion of what really happened that day. He'd been questioned and examined so many times he hardly knew the truth any more, reality seemed mixed with fiction and nearly impossible to pull apart. But there, deep down some memories stuck out.

Like that horrible image of his friends, shackled to the wall. Ron, gasping for breath, Neville, Seamus and Pansy; their bodies hanging. He guessed the worst at that moment, something which was proved when the ministry arrived, all three dead.

Those few seconds of quiet glory, relief of the fighting stopped and the deatheaters and their master gone, sitting in the middle of the great hall, twirling his wand around in his fingers, staring up at the ceiling and trying to ignore the bodies motionless silence. He could oddly piece together each event as it had come in order, how he'd been pulled out of Tralawney's boring lesson and, pushed along the halls with Dumbledore, Snape, and others at toe.

Then, after he'd thought of how things had gone. He remembered when the ministry turned up, he was numb then. He couldn't move, so he just sat there. He supposed it was the presence of death in that room, like he could've sat in there all day with the clutches of the dark just holding him in place. He hadn't wanted to move either, because it felt like something, or someone was whispering in his ear, all the bad things he would see if he left that room.

Maybe a demon on his shoulder, leaning over and smiling mischievously. A red glow radiating around his tiny form while he cackled at his own words. He'd coaxed Harry into staying still, just letting the whole atmosphere weigh on him, adding already to the pounding sensation of being a saviour, or maybe a messiah to the whole world, that everyone had landed on him.

However, there right in the back of his mind was tiny voice. It was deep and meaningful, his own voice he recognised. It ordered him to run, but it also shamed him for running away from those who had tried to keep him safe. But there, that sharp biting tone of the demon tugged at him.

_Stay_, it whispered.

It made him feel sick, the power like seduction was yanking at him, ordering him what to and becoming more spiteful with its choice of words. It made him laugh later, out of pure boredom, his mind turning wicked with the dementors gliding to and from his door. Who would've known that Harry Potter would have Lucifer residing on his shoulder.

* * *

"Harry Potter, we have assessed the situation this past some weeks, we've gone over every single motive that could have been caused during the deaths of Musses Longbottom and Finnigan, also Miss Parkinson."

Harry sighed, he'd been through the same trauma for weeks on end now, countless hard evidence of murder was stacked up against him, innocent truth meant nothing in this room. The court against him currently had a representative pacing while he thought over the evidence, coming to a barrel of meaningless questions to fire at Harry, who sat still in the witness box, chained to a guard who stood sullenly beside him. These questions seemed random, about his school life, what he did outside of school hours and who he considered his comrades, sadly they only flared his temper.

"The court has just one witness left hear from," the magical lawyer called to the Jury and court. "Please stand down mister Potter."

He did as he was told and was shoved along to watch the hearing from a more _safer_ place above the Jury.

The Jury being made up of many of his friends and foes from Hogwarts, those who'd paid a handsome sum for front row seats, and the families of the victims.

Even now Harry could not forget the icy stare Ron and his family would give him every time he passed, Ginny would silently cry next to her mother. The kind and caring Molly Weasley certainly couldn't contain her anger that a boy who she had taken in and cared for like her own had killed and severely injured some, even her own son who had been bedridden for many weeks.

Harry would've given anything, even his left foot to have a moment to tell the some hard truths, to hug Ginny senseless so she would at least smile, he hated it when she cried. Even though he wasn't that much close to the girl, his stomach lurched every time he saw a tear slide down her cheek, he wanted her to smile, like she used to.

"The court calls Hermione Louise Granger to the stand." that commanding voice echoed around the room, almost at once whispers irrupted.

Harry hadn't seen Hermione since the morning before the attack from Voldemort, no-one would tell him why she didn't attend to the hearing, he guessed she was too upset.

But there, sliding into the courtroom and accompanied by a female guard, she limped to stand. Her clothes hung off of her because she was deathly thin. Her once vibrant and bouncy curls were limp around her shoulders, and dark circles drew deep beneath her eyes, which were dull and lifeless.

Harry breathed deeply, why was she like this? What was wrong with her?

Finally, Hermione reached the stand and sat, her eyes staring at her lap.

"Miss Granger, could you please tell the court your relationship with Mister Potter." The Lawyer started, as he was backing the murder case.

He was answered only by silence.

"Miss Granger, please could say how you knew the Harry Potter."

Silence again.

"Miss Granger, please answer all questions directed at you." The judge, a hard-faced and grey haired woman told Hermione, who flinched and wrung her hands together.

"I'll repeat the question, could you please tell the court your relationship with Mister Potter."

It seemed that there would only be silence again, but she let out a deep ridged breath and spoke, her voice was small and shaky. "We were... we were just friends."

"Good friends?"

"Y-yes I suppose."

"How did Mister Potter act during the few weeks before your friends deaths?"

"Quiet, he didn't speak much, didn't do his work in lessons either." Hermione kept her face hidden behind a curtain of dark, dull hair.

"Was he in any way, different to how he usually acted?"

"Yes, he was lot angrier."

_Lies_, Harry thought, she knew very well he'd found an old letter from his godfather, Sirius Black, and it'd upset him deeply. He hadn't realised how much he missed Sirius until he had found that letter, the last letter he'd ever received from him.

And, still the court processed onto much later in the afternoon. The Jury was dismissed and ordered a decision of Harry's sentence in two days time.

Harry had little hope of a guilt free conclusion, but so, it went on and on.

And on.

* * *

** Chapter dedication to Veela of Erised for agreeing with me on many things, I know she's looking foward to this chapter so its for her.**


	3. Chapter II

**Disclaimer:** None of the characters and/or plotlines that are featured in the Harry Potter books belong to the author. But the plotline and character pairing/situations that you, reader, do not recognize from the book series belong to the author.

**Author's Notes: **No, for once I'm not late with this chapter. This was pretty much an un-planned chapter until I scribbled down something in Science - from then on I was pretty busy elsewhere and completely forgot that I had almost half of this to type up. I like the beginning which did start as about a page of my most messy writing on some scrap. But then once I typed it out, it all came together and mutated into two pages of dialogue. Anyways, I hope you enjoy, and now I have more time to write since the summer is rolling by pretty soon. So if I don't update much, shoot me.

Spalmato In Ceneri

**Chapter Two**

"Did you hear?" A girl whispered to her friend across the table. "Apparently he talks himself to sleep every night."

"Nah, he stays awake all night, cursing the people who put him away." The other replied.

"Yeah," Another girl a few places down cried out. "every time a guard or someone goes near his cell, he peers through the bars and stares at them... like he's going to kill them or something."

"A death glare." The first girl called out, which was followed immediately by a snort from a third year boy.

"I'm not surprised, he's a cold, hard killer." After saying this, he dropped his spoon into his cereal, smoothed the royal blue hems of his robes, and continued to read _The Daily Prophet_.

"I still can't believe it... how - just simply _evil_."

"Ah, that's just one of those things. One of those things we'll never truly know."

"Exactly," a strong minded first year cut in, her brown hair was falling loose from a messy bun atop her head, which was held cleverly together by a strong quill. "what's the point of putting a person out of action if we don't know why. It's like, was he provoked to do it?"

"Provoked?"

"You know, pushed too far. Like maybe he was pressured too much with school, with people always looking at him because he was famous and all." She paused to take a quick bite into her toast, at this point near enough the whole of Ravenclaw table was captivated. "Kind of like when somebody is getting on your nerves, you try to ignore them so much, but then it just gets too much and you end up shouting at them."

Several heads nodded in understanding. Robert, one of the most reliable prefects at Hogwarts added. "But, can all that drive someone to killing? They were his friends and everything, would he really kill them like... like _that_?"

There was one of those odd moments of silence for a minute, where everyone just quietens down and no one knows why. This was followed suddenly by all those caught in with the topic of conversation, shake their heads and sigh. "Nah." And thus, nothing more was discussed on that subject for most of the day, until that is, amidst a Charms lesson; when a very much behind in work Cho Chang1 leaned over to her partner.

"I'm glad that by noon he'll be locked away for good, just like his good for nothing godfather. You never know who could be next."

However, there sitting behind the two now immersed in reviving the talk that littered the breakfast table that morning, was Ron Weasley. Trying not to flinch at the innocent flick of a wand, and the haunting echo of an incantation swirling around his head - he listened in. Bored with their gossip, he took his quill and scratched the age old table, cutting through the protective wax of the surface and scrawling:

_Pot-Head must die._2

* * *

Jade green eyes glanced over the sight in front of him, but then his gaze shifted down to his cuffed wrists. He'd almost become used to being bound by the magical ties that stopped his hands from moving much, an electric blue bind of stringy yet strong strands that sent out a strong pulse that shocked the wearer, with even so much a thought of escape or harm. 

Everyone in the courtroom held their breaths, and the moment before the final verdict was like years. A silence that hung in the air, and seemed stuck there by super glue. Each and everyone's worries, fears and even good or bad intentions were kept suspended in a sort of loop in time. One of those moment in time where a person's future could be twisted and destroyed by the views of randomly chosen few. A place where no higher power had control, something like fate you could say. 

"We find the defendant..." 

And still the silence rolled on, and on, and on. 

"Not guilty." 

Shouts of joy erupted from the room in front of him, and Harry could only taste the sourness of his own sentence drawing nearer. Moments later, the freed prisoner burst from the courtroom door, nearly knocking it off its hinges, and strode down the corridor, a wide and sunny grin plastered on his face - currently ignoring the trial of few reporters and relatives behind him. After agonising twenty minutes he was dragged into the courtroom by his own sullen-faced guard, who make sure to poke him in the most painful places. 

He was welcomed upon entering by, a huge flash of many cameras snapping pictures at once. The stands were practically bursting with a spiteful audience, all gasping and raising to their feet when he stumbled past them. He could spot Reeta Skeeta near the front, sitting with her long legs carefully crossed, (probably to hide what was under her much, much too short electric yellow skirt - the horror!) and her parchpad balancing on her lap, along with her quill wobbling at a straight point on the parchment. Her green jacket clashed horribly with the rest of her outfit, she could've probably been spotted a mile off, along with her extra glitzy and thickly rimmed glasses. 

Along with the prime reporter of the _Daily Prophet_ (why Hermione ever let that damn woman free Harry would never know), a few reporters from popular wireless radio stations sat dotted about the courtroom, which looked as bleak and stuffy as ever. Still, there sitting in the stands were most of the staff at Hogwarts, Professor Snape sitting quietly; his arms folded and a fixed scowl on his face, as he watched Harry move towards the stands. Dumbledore stared at him, an unreadable expression stuck to his features, Harry couldn't quite place a word for how he looked; maybe... maybe he just looked - sad? Yes, sad. His glasses slid down to the tip of his crooked nose, and his eyes held not so much of a sparkle, to which they usually crackled with. 

However, Harry couldn't help but lay eyes upon his former friends, as he wished to call them now - never once had they supported him, they wouldn't believe his story. Well, who would, Harry had kept his mouth shut from the day they'd arrested him. Not that anyone had even asked him what had really happened. No, they just kept the truth serum to themselves and decided to get on with finding the evidence against him, which somehow managed to appear from thin air. 

His friends looked... well, not like his friends anymore. He'd never seen Hermione look so upset, even though Hermione was a very emotional person, she tried to hide it in books and her cleverness; but she would always be deeply upset by any teasing her way, or death nearby. Now, now she looked like a shadow of herself. Odd it was, to describe her as that, but it was the closet to how her expressions where unreal in a way. Like a smile seemed plastic, and the only emotion she could show at the moment was sadness, to cry, always crying. 

But Ron. Harry supposed a sentence could end there, a big full stop to finish it off. Yeah, Ron looked different too, just angry. He had a look in his eyes, like a wounded puppy. Wounded puppies probably look anything but cold and heartless, but sometimes... sometimes descriptions just don't match exactly what you're trying to portray. 

" All rise," The old, ageing judge grumbled. "we are gathered here today to reach a conclusion to the trial of a Harold James Potter." 

At this point most of the people in the stands looked directly at him, he could feel their glares and it didn't feel too good. He didn't like the sensation of eyes on him, it was like an itch that wouldn't go away no matter how much your scratched it, his skin was crawling. 

The trial drew on and on, countless people stepped up into the stands and produced similar evidence to his whereabouts at the time of deaths, his emotional state (not that they knew how he felt anyway), and any motivation. Along with a plethora of possible ways in which he had killed his friends, and a show off of objects taken from the crime scene. Not once had Harry been asked to take to the stands, he just stood, his eyes concentrating on the floor. 

If he spoke out it wouldn't make any difference anyway, they all saw him as a killer, how could he change their views? A time ago, the word of an innocent man was taken for granted, but now. Now, propaganda took control. 

" Harry Potter," Harry's head shot up and he came face to face with the judge. Judge, yes that was the new system now. Since Fudge had grown a backbone, wizard law had been _modernised_ as Fudge put it, stepping into the future to crack down on crime in our streets, what a brilliant slogan. 

Harry realised he'd been yanked to the stands, and now stood in front of everybody, staring eyeball to eyeball with the man who could decide on the rest of his life. All the sound in the room echoed in his head, like he was hearing everything from underwater, he heard his charges, the acts he was accused of. The people looking at him, their faces seemed stretched, disfigured. Long pointy noses and big ears sticking out from their heads, large glowing eyes with wicked grins. But then, they were back to normal in a flicker. 

He'd hardly noticed that the jury had piled in and were already muttering before announcing their decision. 

Again, he could hear the words as if through water, and they brought a cold, stabbing emotion of something slamming right down onto his heart. Those words, laced with so much pain and sorrow, the courtroom almost burst with the shouts afterward, few of protest, many, oh so many, of rejoice. 

For nights afterwards, weeks, months, that one tiny word would haunt him in his sleep, the charges would turn him twisted and un forgiving - they would burn the truth. 

"Guilty."

* * *

"Frankie, for the last time - get your arse out of bed." Biddy was on the verge of tears, she had tried several times to drag her friend out of bed. 

"She won't make it down to breakfast at this rate." Thick black locks hid the face of a girl sat sprawled over her own bed at the other end of the room, Alex was trying extremely hard not to scream with the sudden pressure of a stress headache. 

"Get up now, or I'll curse you into next week!" was the last attempt made before Biddy raised her wand high to shoot a small fountain of ice cold water in Frankie's face. That was before Frankie screwed up her face, reached for the pillow underneath her and chucked it at Biddy, with good aim too. 

"Oouf." 

Alex couldn't help but laugh, the scene of her friend's face turning a bright plum colour was very amusing. Biddy herself didn't find this too funny and stalked over to Alex, red curls bouncing while she steadied herself to her full height. Which, wasn't very threatening as the girl was pretty short for her age. Still, light danced around the room as the sun rose above the peaks of the eastern border of Hogwarts. Alex and Biddy soon got caught up in their own simmering argument about who's turn it was to wake up Frankie, who at present was peacefully snoozing in her own bed. 

"Will you guys give it a break," Frankie yawned, rubbing sleep out of her eyes. "I'm trying to sleep here." 

"Sleep? How can you sleep with all these exams going on?" 

"Oh easily," she yawned. 

Biddy snorted while pulling her hair into a messy bun. "Well sleeping beauty, you better get yourself washed and changed within about five minutes." 

"Oh I haven't missed breakfast _again_ have I?" 

"Yes, and the beginning of today's exams in about," Alex glanced at her watch and wrinkled her nose. "4 point 12 seconds." 

"Christ!" gasped Frankie, as she hopped across the room expertly; grabbing a towel and her school robes as she went into the bathroom, slamming the door. 

Biddy sighed loudly and collected her school books, placing them carefully in her bag she shook her head. "We have **got** to get that girl checked over - I think her body clock was put in backwards or something."

* * *

Sunlight bathed the tops of the houses, all in messy clusters across the city. Soft red and orange hues streamed in through open windows and set the birds to sing, while residents awoke and stared their days. Light seemed to find every nook and cranny that the city usually kept hidden, and would soon disappear in shadow within a few once the streets were alive once again. 

Shop keepers set up their stock and advertised their businesses, while young children played in the streets. 

But the peace was soon axed and diced dramatically as one half of the wizarding community in Italy was thrown into a blazing furnace of panic. Lord Voldemort, in a bid to battle beyond England set his faithful servants on the quiet people of this busy city, and laughed loudly, standing amidst death and destruction; just how he liked it. 

A teenage boy came to a skidding halt, after sprinting down a narrow alley, his school bag tossed carelessly over his shoulder. His dark hair fell over his chocolate coloured eyes, while he saw a family of three beg to be spared, but then viciously be jabbed with the killing curse. 

He felt the fire crackle in his eyes. 

Notes:

1) Cho Chang was kept back a year due to emotional stress from the death of Cedric Diggery and the further more dragic deaths of both her parents after the second rise of Lord Voldemort. Since Cho found it so hard to concentrate on her studies, Dumbledore found it right to give a second chance. 

2) _Pot-head must die, _Ron's feelings about the trial are kept to himself, he doesn't really want to admit his true desires to many, his thoughts will be revealed later on in the story. Now, I give you permission to laugh at the complete crap that that line is, hey; I was bored.


End file.
